• It can make or break a relationship.
  • You find out who steps up when it matters.
  • You discover how much you have really aged.
  • You learn you might be allergic to brown boxes (or tape.)
  • You discover how little you really need and how hard you really want to work to pack the “maybe” stuff.
  • You bless your mover who says “No problem. I can tape that.”
  • You have a love/hate relationship with tape.
  • You wonder who put all that stuff in your garage—and why.
  • You find out your kids don’t want any of the things you saved for them—especially your mother’s old stuff in that garage.
  • You find meditation difficult in a house filled with full, half-empty and empty boxes calling your name.
  • You learn to look forward to the new experience and start to write—if you’re a writer—about the old stuff.
  • You worry about finding your way around a new city; then you remember you have kids and you have On-Star.
  • Your remind yourself you need to learn to program On-Star.
  • You wonder how living in a smaller space will affect your relationship. (See item #1)
  • You are in the middle of the moving process and out of boxes and you see that little lamp crouching on the desk you’re leaving. You pretend you didn’t see it and wonder if it will be the first thing you need in your new home.
  • You look forward to your new bed.
  • You think of sleep.
  • You read a chapter in “Transforming Stress” and remember what you do for a living.
  • Ahhh.

Post-move Day One

We arrived to a beehive of activity—three beautiful daughters met the movers and began to unpack as the movers unloaded. Our kitchen is organized in a way that will simplify our days, and the beds are made. Clean towels hang in the bathrooms and the lights are on. The coffee pot and two new mugs with our initials sit in the exact right space by the wall plug and refrigerator. Who am I to be so blessed?

Every moment is unique, unknown, and completely fresh. Pema Chodron

Post-move Day Two

We sit in a forest of boxes watching the cable/security team type into their electronic gadgets to give us abilities we don’t understand and will probably not use in the near future. The remote has possibilities—we can talk to it. And what is it we will say? Peaceful music please; a day without a massacre please; do you know where I put my computer cord? Catherine brings us groceries to get us started.

We have yet to explore our neighborhood, but we have a patio where we have placed our plants and chairs from our home in Indian Shores. Even the words sound remote. We are in Jacksonville—in Riverside to be exact—and we are home. Coffee tastes delicious on our new porch. In our spare moments, our porch moments, we marvel at how we are re-making ourselves. We plan our future workshops, and are blessed that we both have clients already. Then we take a nap; prepare to find space in our apartment for a house-full of books. Who we are has changed. What we left behind surprised us. How could we have thought we needed all that stuff? We fall into bed exhausted and grateful and sleep like toddlers.

As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world…as in being able to remake ourselves. Gandhi

Post-move Day Three

We were able to find the Tampa Bay Lightning game on a three digit channel. We did this by talking to our remote, who is as yet unnamed. While I write I have a music channel flowing from the television. Today we had a full fridge after Lance navigated the nearby Publix. We have ice cream. We have finished the laundry. We will have a Jameson’s with Jeopardy.

The floor is visible—small area rugs define dining room, living room, hallway and kitchen. Lamps are on, most of the boxes are empty and we are having a hard time believing we have not been here longer. Sore muscles remind us how we spent the last few weeks. We send good wishes to the new owner of our house in Indian Shores and are grateful for the freedom of renting, the release from an HOA, and the winter visitor traffic. From our porch we see a well-fed cat, hear the birds in the ligustrum and smell that smell only a fresh flowing river can create. Our relationship has survived and we agree this weekend will be for relaxing and giving thanks. We are especially grateful to my children, my daughter-in-law and our grandchildren. Without them we would not have made it here in this contented and organized way. Life is good, and we promise you, you are never too old to begin again. After two hours of frustrating phone time with a utility who somehow didn’t turn off my phone and internet, I got a lovely man named Anthony who made it alright. I don’t forget what Eckhart Tolle wrote:

The power for creating a better future is contained in the present moment: You create a good future by creating a good present.

If this present moment predicts the future, I am hungry to experience each and every moment. Life is good.

Therèse Tappouni is the author of six published books—four of which have received major awards—and creator of two meditation/visualization CDs. Her latest book is The Gifts of Grief: Finding Light in the Darkness of Loss. Therèse is the founder of the company Whole Heart, dedicated to helping people live a balanced, loving and creative life. She teaches workshops for women in mid-life, grief workshops, women’s history classes, resilience workshops and one-on-one coaching created from her certification as a HeartMath® Trainer. She has also trained in many other modalities, including Somatic Intuitive Training™ and Time Dimension Therapy™

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